


Curiosity Killed The...

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Dean hurts his fingers on a needle), Blood, Cursed objects, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, as in Dean with cat tail and cat ears, cat!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is definitely not the clumsiest person on Earth, but accidents <i>do</i> happen. It's just unfortunate that the creepy cat statue he managed to knock over carried a curse, and now he's stuck as a half-human, half-cat. And it will only get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity Killed The...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_reversebang.
> 
> I come bearing my second RBB fic. This was actually the first one I claimed. It was my second choice during the claims -- and I have no idea why I put it as second because I wanted to write a fic for the gorgeous art by Pax the moment I saw it. 
> 
> Anyway. I had way too much fun with this (I mean, Dean and cats? Of course I had fun) and there's one person I need to thank for that, and that is my artist, Pax. She is such an incredibly sweet person, such a sweetheart, I'm really lucky to have claimed her art because working with her has been such a lovely experience. Besides, her art is breathtakingly gorgeous and precious and I'm in love with it. ♥  
> Thank you also to my beta, Melody, for being the best. 
> 
> CHECK OUT THE ART MASTERPOST [HERE](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/11422.html).

Castiel wakes up to a loud bang, followed by (possibly) glass breaking. His body makes him want to sit up, but as if his animal instincts have won, he remains still and unmoving, lying on his bed.

Well, not exactly 'unmoving'; he does move his hand and his fingers do wrap around the cold of his angel blade that's been hidden under his pillow ever since he moved rooms (which is seventy-two days tonight).

He's never waken up alone, not since sharing the bed with Dean. And that thought is unsettling enough – the fact that there might be an intruder in a place he had thought to be perfectly safe makes him want to crawl out of his skin.

It's only then that his sleepy brain connects these two facts – where's Dean? What if he's in danger?

The next minute comes and goes in perfect silence. 

Castiel slowly gets up from the bed and, fingers still squeezed around the handle of the blade, he goes for the door. Despite going barefoot, he's sure no one can hear him cross the hall, following the memory of the sound wherever it takes him. He _thinks_ \-- and that's one of the worst things humanity has done to him, the fact that he can never be sure -- the sound came from the kitchen, so that's where he's headed.

He knows the bunker well by now, almost as well as the back of his hand, but his little roadtrip to the kitchen, ever so cautious and slow, seems to be never-ending.

The closer he gets, the more he slows down until he stops completely, just a few feet away from the kitchen door. The hallway is dark (and so is the kitchen), and Castiel almost jumps when he hears a hiss and, 'ouch!' echo through it, coming from just around the corner from the opposite direction.

Castiel collects himself and aiming the blade into the darkness that's surrounding him, he moves for the cause of that hiss. It sounded human, oh, it did; but that doesn't mean anything. Not in their lives, really.

“Cas?” says a quiet whisper and then the lights get turned on. “Hell, I knew I heard footsteps.”

Not so quiet after all, then.

Castiel frowns at Sam, standing right in front of him, rubbing his elbow (so he must have hit it, cue the hiss and all that). “I could have killed you, Sam!” Castiel exclaims, trying to sound serious while quiet all the same.

Sam scoffs “No, you couldn't,” he informs him and holds out the knife Ruby once gave them. 

Castiel wants to argue at first, another thing that can be now described as human even though he's always been like this, but then he remembers they're both here because of more serious matters.

“You heard the noise, I suppose,” he whispers and then glances towards the kitchen door. 

Sam nods. “Yeah. Dean went to check the library? That was my second guess. Either the kitchen or the library.”

“Actually,” Castiel mumbles and the distress comes back onto his face. “I don't know where Dean is. I woke up alone.”

Thankfully, this is the one time when Sam doesn't actually comment on the fact Castiel and Dean got together. Castiel couldn't appreciate this more.

Sam's expression changes to one of determination once Castiel says that. “Okay. I get in there and you cover me.”

“Won't you turn the lights off?” Castiel suggests.

“Well, if there's someone in the kitchen, they've already seen the light, so.”

Castiel nods, vaguely remembering Dean telling him something about the importance of the element of surprise. They won't have that now. And the fear that something has happened to Dean, that someone has broken in to the bunker, keeps squeezing his gut with more and more pressure and Castiel doesn't like it.

“Sam, shouldn't we --” _have a better plan_ Castiel goes to ask, but before the sentence is out of his mouth, the kitchen door opens – to their great surprise – and, well.

It’s really not anything Castiel would have expected.

It's not a burglar, for starters. 

Actually, it's just Dean, standing in the doorway with a guilty expression on his face. Just good ol' Dean. Definitely not possessed, but there's something wrong with him nonetheless and both Sam and Cas notice it right away, really.

And Dean doesn't even care to notice himself, which could be amusing (and probably is, considering Sam's surprised snort) given any other situation. Castiel is, you know, still worried, and some would surely find it reasonable.

What with Dean _and the furry ears sitting on top of his head, and the tail twitching behind his back._

“What on Earth are you doing with that?” Sam asks through an unsure smile, motioning towards the ears and towards the mess of broken pieces of ceramic in Dean's hands. And oh, okay, Castiel thinks he gets it then. Of course it's just a stupid prank, because _how_ would it be possible for Dean to grow a cat tail and a pair of cat ears, right?

(Even though Castiel must admit they look convincing. And quite adorable, if he had to describe their appearance.)

Dean's frowning when Castiel wakes up from his (sort of) daydream. 

“Look,” he says and eyes the broken pieces in his hands pitifully. “I just went to get some water because I couldn't sleep and I didn't turn the lights on and knocked this thing over. Not my fault.”

Sam and Castiel exchange a look. It's more of a staring contest – well, a staring _war_ to be precise, as they are literally arguing about who is going to tell Dean about his new... equipment. Castiel squints, that being his final weapon in this battle, but Sam's face remains unmoving and Castiel has to sigh and nod in the end. Okay, he'll tell him. It's perhaps fair.

“Dean,” Castiel states as that is the only thing he’s sure about right now. His tone catches Dean's attention, though, and his frown deepens. “I don't know how to put this without offending you, but I must inform you there's a cat tail attached to you and there are cat ears on top of your head.” Oh, okay, that was kind of easy. Yes, he probably could have worded it better, but this is all he can do under these circumstances; no one can blame him for not being a professional about this. 

Dean smirks and tilts his head a bit. “What?” he asks in disbelief. He knows he should trust Castiel's serious face, always, but it's not exactly easy right now.

Castiel simply nods in confirmation.

Dean's eyes widen and he looks at Sam this time, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation from his part as well. Sam nods, copying Castiel perfectly.

“You can't be serious,” Dean informs them and then hands the broken pieces of something (Sam is getting interested in those) to Cas. Once Castiel takes them from him, Dean's hands go up to his head.

At first they're sure in what they're doing, Dean runs his fingers through his hair, but once his little finger brushes against something that hadn't been there before, he freezes.

“What the -- “ he murmurs to himself and then his fingers are brushing and touching the ears on his head.

“They're ginger,” Castiel tells him almost sheepishly and he can't help the small smile that fights its way onto his face.

“Stop smiling!” Dean almost shouts, panic rising in his voice and making his chest heave as his breathing quickens. Dean's fingers then leave the soft fur of the ears – _ears_ , for Christ's sake – and he reaches behind him, feeling and catching the tail easily. His breathing is loud by now, and Castiel can see the panic attack approaching. “No. No no no no.”

Castiel reaches out and wraps his fingers firmly around Dean's forearm, holding the broken pieces in his other hand. “Calm down,” he tells him in a quiet voice, eyes locked on Dean's face. “Look at me. Come on, look at me.” Dean obeys immediately and Sam is surprised to see his features soften and his eyes to widen in some twisted sort of adoration. Oh, great. He's _acting_ like a cat. 

Dean whines. “It was a cat statue,” he exclaims and stares both at Cas and Sam for a few seconds before glaring at the broken pieces of ceramic in Castiel's arms hands. “It was a freakin' cat statue and it was damn ugly. And it must have been cursed and now I've got _this_ ,” he says and he motions towards his ears with his free hand, “and God I hate this place filled with cursed objects. God, I hate it.”

Castiel and Sam wait through Dean's little speech, because even though it's shocking – seeing as Dean doesn't usually voice his complaints with such emotion – they both know it's better than seeing him have the aforementioned panic attack. That one is not coming back, Castiel is pretty sure.

“We'll figure this out,” Sam tells him in an almost motherly voice. “If it's a curse, we'll find a way to stop it. Don't worry, you're not stuck being a cat.”

“Shit,” Dean curses under his breath and goes to run his fingers through his hair, temporarily forgetting about the ears and stumbling over them with his hand. He winces.

Castiel sighs. “It's the middle of the night. We won't figure anything out, tired as we are. I suggest that we rest for a few more hours and then solve this in the morning. One night couldn't possibly make this any worse.”

Dean glares at him, and if he could kill with his eyes, Castiel would be a burning pile of ashes right now. “Easy for you to say!”

“No, he's right,” Sam agrees and rubs his face tiredly. “I can barely see I'm so tired. We'll take care of this in the morning, okay? You can survive right now.”

Dean's expression turns into a kid one, whiny and unhappy. Sam gets it; really, he does, at least to some extent. Not that he's ever been (partly) turned into an animal, not that he wants to, but yeah, he gets it. It must be annoying, and awful, and unfamiliar, and, most of all, at least a bit horrifying. I mean, have you ever seen someone with an actual tail? Yeah.

Castiel lets go of Dean's arm and goes to – rather carefully – place the broken pieces on the kitchen table. They might need those in the morning.

“Come on,” he says then and his fingers are back, once again curled around Dean's wrist. “Let's go to bed.”

“Still better than being a dog, man,” Sam offers as some poor sort of encouragement and is very surprised to hear Dean hiss at him.

 

The following morning, Castiel wakes up alone again. 

He takes the familiar path towards the kitchen, not surprised at all to find Dean there. What he does find surprising, despite the circumstances (yes, the ears and the tail are still there), is seeing Dean sitting on the kitchen counter. He's got his knees pulled up close to his chest and he's pouring milk down his throat. His tail – which seems to have gotten thicker overnight – is lying lazily around his ankles.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel says and then clears his throat, coughing away any remains of sleep in his voice.

Dean pulls the half-empty bottle of milk away from his mouth and licks his lips with care, his tongue catching a few drops of milk. And Castiel shouldn't find that attractive. Nope.

“Hi, Cas,” Dean says and as he jumps off the counter, the bottle with milk forgotten for the moment, he takes a step towards him. His tail twitches with each step he takes, and he keeps on walking until his chest almost hits Cas'. He leans in for a quick kiss, pecking Castiel's lips. 

Castiel is, well, taken aback. Not that he's not used to this – nah, Dean is pretty sweet most of the time, and even though he doesn't waste his time with unnecessary words and stupid nicknames, there's always a lot of kissing and touching.

No, what throws Cas off his feet is Dean's approach and how much it has changed, and Castiel can sense it in every move Dean makes.

“Is Sam up yet?” he asks instead of commenting on Dean's state and takes a reluctant step backwards. Amused, Castiel thinks of reminding Dean of personal space and its importance, but once again, he keeps it to himself.

“Yeah.” Dean scrunches up his face. “I heard him get up around six and fumble around in the kitchen. He's been in the library since, hell, seven or something?”

“You really did hear him get up, didn't you?” Castiel tilts his head. Dean's sleep has always been light, his hand always ready to grab his gun – but not here in the bunker. Cas knows Dean feels safe here, and he wonders what caused this, all of a sudden.

“Cat senses, I guess?” Dean offers as if reading Castiel's mind, and his hand goes up to his head. He touches the left ear reluctantly, as if to make sure they're still there, and he sighs. Within a second, his face grows red and he drops his gaze. “This is awful.”

“I wouldn't put it like that,” Castiel argues with him and finally, because he's been dying to do this ever since he saw Dean, he brings his hand up and caresses Dean's ears carefully. Good lord, so _soft_. “I mean to say – I'm sure it sucks for you, but... it looks adorable.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, as if not believing what he's hearing. Then he catches Cas' hand and squeezing tightly, he pulls his hand away in a dismissive gesture.

“We'll figure something out,” Castiel mumbles then with a sigh. Dean really needs to learn how to accept compliments... however strange they might sound. “Let me grab something for breakfast. We should join Sam in the library then.”

 

That's exactly what they do. 

They've been stuck in the library for almost six hours with their result being absolutely nothing. _Nada_ , Dean says when he closes the fifth book in a row with an annoyed expression. _Nada_ seems to stand for “I hate this”, considering his tone. 

He gets up, then. 

Only to sit down at the next table, picking up the pieces of something that was once a creepy cat statue.

And God, was it creepy. Dean has never even noticed it in their kitchen, not before knocking it over (Castiel will later admit that he found it in one of the bunker's storerooms and thought it was cute, just like cats in general, really, and Dean will kiss him stupid because that's exactly what he is). And yet, here he is, the ceramic broken pieces cold in his hands.

Dean dares to let out a quiet sigh. Sam and Cas are still buried in books – bless their patience, really, the patience that Dean lacks –and he doesn't want to interrupt them.

Fuck, he hates cats. Okay, he doesn't hate them as much as he hates dogs, but only Sam can find a silver lining in that. 

His tail twitches at the thoughts filled with hatred, and, yeah, it's definitely not out of excitement now. This is not normal – and it doesn't even fit their kind of _batshit crazy_ , which is saying something. Dean doesn't like it; doesn't like feeling like an anomaly, like some weird thing that's completely fucked up, and Cas saying it's adorable will not help him get over it.

People don't have tails and cat ears never appear on their heads, joining the normal ones; he can't stay this way. He's always felt like he would never fit in, but thank you, this is very extreme and he never asked for it. He might just go insane if they don't figure out how to reverse this thing. He's _desperate_ , that's what he is, and he can't help it. He can't help none of this and it's driving him crazy, and God, if he could just concetrate and stop playing with those stupid broken pieces, because that's what cats do, always doing the stupidest shit, willing to break their legs to chase a ball yarn, and he's not –

One of the broken pieces falls out of his hands and when it stops rolling around the table, Dean notices something.

“Guys,” he says quietly as he picks up the piece, inspecting it, bringing it close so he can see it properly. “Guys!” Louder this time, and Sam hums as he reads last couple of words before getting up, Cas by his side.

“What is it?”

“Look,” Dean exclaims and forces the broken piece into Sam's hands. “There's a name there. You see that? Right there.” 

“Yeah, I see it alright,” Sam groans and Castiel tries to take a peak over Sam's shoulder. “T. T. Robinson. So?”

“Well, sounds like this is handmade, you know? I mean, I think it is – and someone had to curse the freaking thing. My guess is the maker.”

Sam frowns. “You think they'd still be alive? This place has been abandoned for --” 

“I know,” Dean cuts him off, rolling his eyes. “I'm just saying it's worth the shot. We could look them up and see what happens.”

“Well, I think that‘s a good plan,” Castiel joins in on the discussion, and Dean is rather pleased that he's on his side. “You can look this person up, right?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. I just -- “ Both Dean and Cas give him a stern look – a glare, almost – and Sam sighs. “Fine, whatever. I'll look them up, if it will make you so damn happy.”

Dean smirks. “Good boy, Sammy.” 

 

As it turns out, T. T. Robinson passed away seventeen years ago, but his (and it's beyond Dean's understanding why a guy would ever spend his time on pottery, not to mention _cats_ ) daughter, almost forty now, lives in Wyoming after divorcing her husband.

“I could go talk to her,” Sam suggests, his eyes still scanning the computer screen with Robinson's photo on it. “Ask her how her dad died, if there were any freak accidents in the past.”

Dean nods. “I'm going with,” he announces, but then he seems to remember why they're searching for the guy in the first place, and he shakes his head. “Nah, taking that back. I'm not going anywhere like this.”

“I should perhaps stay as well. If you'd prefer not going alone, you can always ask Kevin.”

Sam frowns at Castiel. “Why can't you come? I'm not saying you're the best hunter out there, but you've got experience.”

“I'd rather stay with Dean,” Castiel explains and looks at Dean sideways, then looks back at Sam. “He's … more cat-like than last night. His tail got thicker, I think, and you must have noticed he's acting weird. I'd like to stay, just in case he goes full-on cat and needs someone to take care of him and stop him from running around, or possibly away.”

Sam smirks. “Kevin could do that, you know.”

Cas' face reddens. “You know Kevin would stay locked in his room working on the tablets. He couldn't really take care of Dean if necessary.”

“Oh, come on --” 

“First of all,” Dean cuts them both off, his hands raised up in the air to catch their attention. “I'm standing right here. And second of all, there's no way I'd go full-on cat. Nope. So no one needs to take care of me.”

“Dean --” Castiel tries, but Dean shushes him, his left cat ear twitching slightly.

“Shut your mouth,” he tells him. “I'm gonna get me some milk.”

With that, he waltzes out of the room, his movements softened by what could possibly be another cat feature. After all, cats are all nonchalant sassy bastards. Gosh, Dean is going to be so much fun to be around in the next few days.

 

Dean is sure that after he left the library, Cas and Sam kept talking and fighting over who's going to go and who's going to stay to 'take care of Dean'. As if he needed that.

Either way, Castiel must have used some remains of his mojo because Sam let it go in the end, grabbed Kevin, and left just a few minutes after sunset. 

So it's just Dean and Cas now, in the bunker, and despite Dean's... problem, it's quite nice. They're snuggled in their bed, once Dean's and now theirs, watching television. 

They keep some distance at first, because Dean really, really doesn't like the way Cas keeps staring at him in kind of an adoring way, but they end up all over each other anyway. By ten in the evening, Dean's basically sprawled on top of Cas, his head at a weird angle so he can still watch the television. His tail is curled around Castiel's calf and somehow, and Dean doesn't really know how it happened and why he let it happen, Cas is running his fingers through Dean's hair. Those fingers, of course, end up touching, caressing and ocassionally scratching at Dean's cat ears and, well, Dean finds himself humming silently, content against Cas' chest. 

“This feels nice,” Dean mumbles almost sleepily into Castiel's t-shirt and Cas hums in response. Dean moves to nuzzle his face against Cas' neck, and ends up rubbing his face against it, his cat ears brushing against Castiel's chin. And God, Dean loves it; loves the feeling it gets him, all that fluttering and actual teenage butterflies in his stomach. He closes his eyes and keeps pressing his ears against Cas' skin, and he doesn't ever, _ever_ want to stop.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers then, his voice low and yet interrupting Dean, waking him up from his slumber, and the smile on his face freezes. “That tickles.”

As if only now realizing what he's been doing, Dean pulls away and sits up on the bed, his tail now as far from Cas as possible. He's red in the face, and he hates that this... state or whatever, makes him so vulnerable to all outside impulses. 

“Shit,” he murmurs and runs his fingers through his hair (hating how they trip over the ear, stumbling, hurting). “I'm sorry. Damn, I hate this. Sorry.”

Cas sits up as well and turns the television off before focusing on Dean's face. “You need to understand that this doesn't matter,” he explains in a soft voice. “It doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't effect you in that way. Until Sam figures out what to do, you'll have to live with it. And I – I don't mind if you listen to your instincts. I have to agree, Dean – that felt nice.”

Dean stares for a second, all raised eyebrows and tense expression on his face, before saying, “You're so weird, Cas. You can't find this attractive, seriously.”

Castiel shrugs and drops his gaze – he is now the one whose face is covered in a blush. “Well, I've always liked cats.”

“But cats are irritating.”

“I think you don't like cats because they're a lot like humans in some ways.”

Dean scrunches up his face, “Are you implying I'm like a cat for real?”

“Well,” Castiel tilts his head, “you do get offended a lot. And you overreact. And you tend to isolate yourself once there's a problem. Animals do that a lot. Did you know dogs always seek solitude when they feel their time is up?”

Dean keeps his stern face for a few seconds, as if considering this new informaion, but in the end, his face falls and his shoulders roll down as if in disappointment. He stays silent, not thinking it's necessary to add anything else to this discussion.

He feels the tail and the ears with more intensity than before. It's like they are growing to be a permanent part of him, which makes him shudder; or maybe it's the sudden cold of the room hitting his bare shoulders and fighting its way through Dean's sweatpants.

Either way, Castiel, almost like he can not only see but also sense Dean's discomfort, shifts on the bed so he's closer to him. He wraps his hands around him and drops a small kiss onto Dean's freckled shoulder.

“You'll be fine, Dean,” he comforts him once again, this time in a whisper.

Dean, feeling suddenly so small, rests his head against Cas' shoulder. He nuzzles it, much like he nuzzled his neck before, and sighs. “I guess I should be thankful you've always liked cats.”

 

The struggle disappears as if overnight. Dean wakes up and he's perfectly okay with what's happened to him.

As he gets up, scratching his cat ears, it occurs to him that maybe Cas was right and he really is slowly turning into a real cat. _Whatever_ , he thinks and shrugs it off. He honestly doesn't care.

The carelessness might have something to do with the fact Sam calls barely a few minutes after Dean wakes up. 

“How was your second night as a cat?” Sam teases him and Dean hisses once again, silencing Sam's mocking once and for all. “Yeah, alright, you don't have to be a jerk about it.”

“So how's the investigation, or whatever, going?” Dean asks as he opens the fridge and pulls out another bottle of milk, wishing they had some cream instead. What _even_.

“Well, Robinson's daughter told us pretty much nothing, but even that nothing was a bit suspicious.”

Dean frowns. “Suspicious how?”

Sam hums. “Well. When we asked her about any freak accidents connected to her father's work, she got very fidgety and then tried to laugh it off.”

“So you think she might know something?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees and Dean can almost see him nod in confirmation. “And she likes Kevin. Like, seriously, in the wow-you're-so-hot way. So I might have talked him into asking her out.”

Dean snorts and his tail twitches playfully. “You told me she was almost forty!”

“I know!” Sam laughs on the other side of the line. “He's not happy about it at all. He's mentioned Princeton like five times already, and he's usually pretty over that stuff by now, you know.”

“Poor kid,” Dean exclaims but they both know he doesn't really mean it. There's nothing like seeing your friends being forced to do something they'd rather avoid. God knows Dean has played this kind of thing on Sam countless times. “Anyway,” he adds after a moment, “I hope you can figure something out. I'm still pretty human, but I stopped minding being partly cat, so, hurry up.”

“Wow,” Sam breathes out and whistles. “Sounds bad. How's Cas doing?”

Dean smirks to himself, even though Sam can't see it. “Don't worry, I'll make it okay for him. More than okay, even.”

“Oh God, Dean,” Sam whines and Dean swears he can see his eye-roll in his head. “Please, don't. Don't talk to me about that. Please.”

“You asked!”

“My bad,” Sam says, still sounding rather disgusted. He clears his throat then. “Well, I'll let you know when we figure something out. Stay sane.”

“I know, you wouldn't want a cat instead of an awesome brother.”

“Yeah, sure. If that's what you want to believe.”

Dean laughs at that, sincere and as far from offended as possible. He's missed talking to Sam like that – they've both been so serious lately, or maybe it's been just Dean. He feels relaxed now, able to joke and not take things too seriously. And he likes that. 

He hangs up, thinking it's not so bad after all if it made him reconsider some things.

It's still early when he checks, only a few minutes past nine, and Cas is still asleep. Dean considers joining him in bed again, but he ends up curling up on the couch and turning on the TV. He tucks his feet underneath him and his tail curls in his lap. He leans against the arm rest and mostly lost in thought, he pretends to pay attention to the soap opera that's currently on. He drifts off to sleep within ten minutes, perfectly comfortable.

He wakes up to Castiel kissing his forehead gently.

He murmurs incoherently, possibly words of absolute discomfort because napping on the couch turned out to be nicer than he’d expected.

“Sam called, Dean, ” he informs him and sits down beside him. Dean’s tail, asi if on call, moves and ends up sprawled over Cas‘ lap.

Dean rubs his face and looks up. “Yeah? What did he want? Is he in trouble?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head and smiles when Dean rests his head against his shoulder. “He called to ask how you were doing. I told him that you were fine last time we talked.”

“Thanks for not telling him about my freak-out session,” Dean murmurs and, sub-consciously, his hand finds Castiel’s. He brings it up to his mouth, his fingers wrapped around Castiel’s wrist.

“You’re certainly welcome,” Castiel tells him, the same smile still on, stretching his lips.

Castiel watches as Dean presses his lips against his forefinger. He’s not entirely used to this; but then again, they are never truly alone in the bunker and Dean likes to keep this kind of thing in their bedroom. It’s unusual to be sitting in the living room, getting his fingers sucked into Dean’s mouth, in an obviously sexual (and quite promising) way.

“You had been asleep not even three minutes ago,” Castiel comments, but his voice is soft and Dean knows he’s not complaining about any of this.

Dean smirks instead, twirling his tongue around the tip of Cas‘ middlefinger. He likes the saltiness of his fingers, likes the taste of his skin against his tastebuds, likes the intimacy of this.

He finds himself pressing his teeth against Cas‘ skin, sure to leave a mark but careful not to make it painful; claiming him. _You’re mine_ , he tells Castiel with his teeth enveloping Castiel’s fingers in a soft way. It’s so far from biting it’s actually disturbing – Dean’s teeth are usually gritted, not loving, not like this.

But Castiel understands. Dean sees it in the understanding expression on Castiel’s face; he gets it. Cas gets that it’s the cat in Dean acting out, and neither of them minds. They are both pretty content like this, and Dean can’t get enough.

Castiel breathes out, then, after a minute or two, as if relieved.

“Dean...” he tries, but he doesn’t really have anything to say; it’s just because he needs to say something, not even knowing if it’s supposed to mean comfort or if it’s a simple plead. 

Dean pulls away, leaving Castiel’s fingers wet and covered in his saliva. 

He proceeds to straddle Castiel’s hips, his tail bristled, goosebumps covering his skin. For a second, he simply stares, examining each and every inch of Castiel’s face. He blinks then, slowly, and one corner of his mouth goes up in a smirk.

Castiel blinks back, just as slow.

It’s like they’re communacating through signals that wouldn’t mean anything to a stranger, but they both like it this way. They do understand each other.

That’s why Castiel’s hands rest on Dean’s hips almost immediately, his fingers already digging into Dean’s skin, ready to leave a red, burning mark. 

“Bedroom?” Castiel suggests quietly when Dean leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss on Castiel’s neck, his tongue running over his skin. 

Dean’s hips roll forwards, his crotch meeting Cas’ halfway. “Does that really matter?” he mumurs into the skin on Castiel’s neck as he starts sucking on it, his palms pressed flat against Castiel’s chest.

“It does,” Castiel insists in a whine. His mind is already too busy imagining the bruise that would form on his neck, it’s dark blue-purple color, and he’s got to push back the urge to throw his head back to grant Dean better access. 

“It doesn’t,” Dean argues playfully as one of his hands slides down Castiel’s chest and rests just above the hem of his sweatpants. Despite the hour, it still feels like morning sex, which is awesome and which, okay, should probably be moved to their bed. But Dean couldn’t be bothered.

“Because,” Castiel starts and inhales sharply when they crotches brush again, and his hands go up Dean’s sides, “there’s not enough space here.” And then, with Dean’s lips still pressed against his skin, something in Castiel’s mind turns and turns and when he opens his mouth again, he’s not reasonable anymore. “And I want you in our bed. You know how much I appreciate that.”

“What?” Dean pulls away, sitting back, his right cat ear twitching as if Castiel has tickled him. “Because you like me on my back so much? Because,” he leans in again, stopping just mere inches from Castiel’s skin, “because you want my legs wrapped around your waist? Because in our bed, you can do whatever you want?”

Castiel’s fingers squeeze Dean’s sides and his hips move forwards. That is a good enough confirmation, really, but still – 

“Yes,” Castiel breathes out and he pulls Dean’s body closer. “Yes.”

Dean smiles, the smile more of a victory than anything else, really, and he shifts until he’s able to climb off of him.

“Let’s go, then,” he says with a smirk and reaches out his hand for Castiel to catch. And it’s not like Castiel could ever say no to that.

Once they’re in their room, Dean pushes his palms against Castiel’s chest until he makes him back, until his knees hit their bed, until he falls backwards onto the mattress. Until he shows him that today is _not_ about Castiel being in control, despite the talk back in the living room.

Dean smirks, but remains standing for a few more moments as he quickly takes off his clothes, Cas taking the note and doing the same, even though in more awkward motions. 

Once naked, Dean’s grin comes back and seems to be glued onto his face as it’s still there when he kneels on the bed, slowly closing the gap between them. Dean is pleased to see Cas is hard already, and he hums low in his throat, slowly straddling Cas‘ hips and hovering over him, playfully teasing him with his hands running up and down Cas’ chest.

Castiel can feel that damned grin even when Dean finally presses his lips against his, soft at first and then suddenly demanding. Dean buries his tongue deep in Castiel’s mouth in a second, and Castiel’s breath hitches at the back of his throat at the familiar warmth and the spark of pleasure already blossoming in the pit of his stomach.

Dean breaks the kiss after a while and catches Castiel’s wrist, sucking on his fingers once again before Cas can open his mouth and say anything. Dean covers his fingers in a decent layer of spit, never breaking their eye contact, and when he considers his job done, he moves his body upwards and while sealing their mouths again, he leads Cas’ hand towards his ass.

And Cas has _always_ been good at this. Dean remembers expecting at least some kind of awkwardness the first time they ended up in bed together, but it never came. They work great together, and Cas is always so good at guessing what Dean wants and needs – so good at reading even the smallest of pleads.

And he’s good now – while keeping Dean’s mouth preoccupied with his own, he brushes his slicked fingers against Dean’s hole and slowly pushes one finger in, surprised to feel Dean move against it right away.

Soon enough – their mouths are now inches apart, and Dean’s starting to pant rather than just breathe – Dean is fucking himself onto Cas‘’ fingers, his nails digging into Castiel’s shoulders.

“C’mon, Dean,” Castiel murmurs after a few minutes and pulls his fingers out carefully.

Dean whines, and would have kept whining if it wasn’t for Castiel’s dick sliding against his entrance, demanding a permission. 

Castiel holds still as Dean sinks onto his dick slowly.

It’s a tight fit at first, and Dean almost hisses, but soon enough, the held-back hiss turns into a soft whimper and Dean starts rolling his hips. His fingers scratch and burn Castiel’s skin as he digs them deep into it and moves them, feeling Castiel’s cock deep inside him, brushing against his prostate.

“So good,” Dean breathes out as he clenches his ass around Cas’ dick every now and then.

“Yeah?” Castiel murmurs, his eyes so alive and beautiful Dean almost falls apart right then and there.

He nods quietly, sweat glistening on his forehead and his hips where Cas has been gripping them. Dean leans in, slides his hands under Castiel’s arms and holds his ass up.

Normal Dean would never utter these words, would never be this open, but this Dean, Dean with his tail tickling Cas‘ thighs and his cat ears twitching, just rests his cheek against Cas’ shoulder and mumbles, “Cas,” and then, “take me, please, just... just fuck me good.”

And Castiel does, his hands resting on Dean’s back and pulling him closer. He thrusts his dick up into Dean’s ass in a soon frantic pace.

When it all gets to be too much and his whole body tenses, Dean bites down on Castiel’s shoulder, as far from gentle as possible, drawing small drops of blood.

His thighs grow shaky in the next few moments and his whole body tingles and he’s in no control over it – he’s almost there, his eyes already shut close, his body jerking now and then, grunts escaping his mouth. When Castiel wraps his fingers around Dean’s dick, moaning himself, and gives it a firm squeeze, and runs his fingers over the tip, and his dick hits Dean’s prostate once again, it’s over.

Dean’s whole world collapses and his body jerks as he comes, whimpering softly each time Cas thrusts into him while reaching his own orgasm. But Dean’s too far off the edge to be aware of any of this; barely understanding anything, just falling and falling and falling until he lands back on their bed, breathing heavily and somewhat exhausted.

He climbs off of Cas without a word and cuddles right next to him, no space whatsoever parting them.

“So good,” he comments again and his fingers trail over the bitemark on Castiel’s shoulder, as if apologizing silently. “Now, a nap.”

“Dean,” Castiel protests, but his own breathing hasn’t gone back to even yet. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.”

Dean hisses and wraps his tail around Castiel’s waist, both a protective gesture and something to keep him in place. “ _Nap time_ , Cas. Hush.”

And so he does. His eyelids are way too heavy to even try to argue.

 

When Castiel wakes up, Dean is long gone, the sheets next to Cas cold. He huffs out an annoyed breath; one things he doesn’t like about this cat version of Dean is that he seems to always wake up first and simply disappear. He _hates_ that. He likes waking up next to Dean and be able to nuzzle his face against Dean’s shoulder, maybe murmur something in his ear, still half asleep.

Waking up alone makes him somehow feel as if he never went to bed in the first place – even now, he feels tired and annoyed. 

He almost wants to go back to sleep, but when he checks Dean’s watch – lying on the nightstand now, even though usually glued to Dean’s wrist – he sees it’s barely past one in the afternoon and the guilt of wasting a whole day makes him get up.

Reluctantly, but because he feels kind of responsible, he starts searching for Dean. It turns out to be an almost impossible task – ten minutes and he still can’t find him.

He runs into him in one of their storerooms; Castiel doesn’t really expect to find Dean there and it only doubles his surprise when he spots him sitting down on an old sofa, focused and almost unmoving.

“Dean?” Castiel asks as he takes a step into the room.

“Shit,” Dean hisses and brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck at it for a few seconds. “Hey, Cas. What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, obviously,” he says and when Dean doesn’t look up to meet his eyes, he takes another few steps. “Sam would kill me if I let something happen to you, and it seems like this place is dangerous for you. What are you doing?”

“Just sewing this up,” Dean mumbles and Cas finally looks closer; just to see Dean working on a weird, deformed stuffed animal. “What exactly is that?”

“It _was_ a stuffed cat,” Dean explains as he buries the needle back in the fabric. “When I found it, it was completely ruined. I have no idea what ripped it apart but I’m trying to fix it.”

Castiel silently raises his eyebrow and keeps all inappropriate comments that try to fight their way out of his mouth to himself. He’s too worried to sit down next to Dean, and so he keeps standing there, almost sorry he can’t lean against something to complete the perfect image of a boy waiting for his date outside their house.

“You’re actually using a needle to fix an old stuffed toy.”

“It was a _cat_ ,” Dean emphasizes, “And it was completely ruined, so shut up. I need to concentrate. This is nothing like stitches, okay, and it sucks.”

When Castiel looks closer, he’s able to decipher that Dean is no artist when it comes to this, and that most of his fingers have dried blood on them. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“Told you it sucks,” he mumbles, obviously determined to ignore his little injuries until he finishes his work.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, “let it go. This calls for more experienced hands.”

“One, stop insulting me. Two, seriously, Cas, just let me finish it. I’m almost done.”

Castiel sighs again and even though he has to fight back the urge to just grab Dean’s wrist, pull him up and take care of him, he doesn’t. “I’ll be in the kitchen, then. Waiting for you with bandaids.”

“Awesome,” Dean nods, his eyes still on the stuffed animal.

Castiel doesn’t have it in him to tell Dean that it doesn’t look like a cat at all; he just eyes Dean for a few more seconds and once he makes himself believe he won’t accidentaly stab his eye with the needle, he leaves the room.

As it turns out, Dean’s “I’m almost done” actually means he’s not done at all. It takes him over an hour to finish sewing that toy together.

When he appears in the kitchen, he carries it proudly, though, and his hands are a complete disaster.

Castiel, without a word, gets up from where he’s been reading a book, and gently takes Dean’s hands in his. “Okay, let’s clean you up.”

Dean hisses and winces when Cas holds his fingers under a stream of cold water. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you,” he states dryly, his tail hanging down, lifeless.

Cas chuckles and shakes his head. “No. You’ve just grown very fond of cats of all sorts.”

“Even worse,” Dean comments, but he keeps his mouth shut as Cas cleans his little wounds up. He only speaks up when Cas insists on bandais, and it’s to make him give it up. He does, eventually, and so Dean’s fingers hurt whenever he picks something up or really, just touches anything, but he tells himself it was worth it.

“How did you even find the thing?” Castiel asks when they settle on the couch in their living room, a tv remote in Castiel’s hands.

Dean shrugs. “I dunno. I just went to look through some old stuff and it fell out of a box.”

“How peculiar,” Castiel hums, and when Dean glances at him, he sees him wearing a deep frown. It doesn’t worry Dean, not really, even though he realizes it must mean something’s wrong. 

He shrugs it off when Cas turns the tv on and Dean spots familiar characters on the screen.

“Oh, Star Trek reruns! I like,” he decides and happily snuggles close to Cas, resting his head on Cas‘ shoulder and his tail across his lap and around his wrist. 

 

The following morning, Dean wakes up on top of Cas. His left cheek is pressed against Castiel’s chest, their legs are tangled and his right hand is halfway down Cas‘ pants. 

Dean doesn’t wake up happy and cuddly and content, though. Something wakes him up – a _feeling_ , he’d say if he had to describe it, and not a pleasant one. He almost falls off of Cas‘ body and sits up by his side, wide awake.

Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with Sam, and Dean’s sure of it. His heart picks up a quicker rate as he shuffles on the bed to get to his phone. He dials Sam’s number, and he’s not at all surprised to end up in voicemail.

As he reaches out to Cas, quite panicky, he’s stopped by loud meowing. It distracts him completely and he momentarily forgets about his gut feeling.

It feels like the cat producing the noise is somewhere in the bunker, but as it turns out in a few moments, it’s _outside_ the bunker and Dean questions, for a second, how he could have heard it in the first place.

Once he finds the cat, though, he realizes it’s more of a kitten. It’s small and delicate and meowing like it’s life depends on it. It’s fur’s color matches Dean’s tail and cat ears and it walks toward him the moment he opens the door.

“Well, hello there,” he says as the kitty walks by him and into the bunker. Dean doesn’t even stop to think about it.

Only when the kitty promenades itself into the living room, Dean picks it up gently, and with a soft smile on his face, he gently runs his fingers down the kitty’s head and back. It purrs in response and nuzzles it’s head against Dean’s chest.

He almost giggles as he takes it to the bedroom, sitting down next to Cas.

“Hey,“ he says and carefully holding the kitty in one hand, he nudges Castiel’s shoulder with the other one. “Cas, wake up. C’mon.”

Castiel groans. “Next time try waking me up with a kiss,” he says in a raspy, sleepy voice as he turns around to where Dean’s sitting. He groggily opens his eyes, obviously not happy about it at all.

“Look what I just found,“ Dean sing-songs and holds the little kitty out for Cas to take.

It’s so sudden Castiel doesn’t really have any other choice but to catch the kitten if he doesn’t want it to settle in their bed. He frowns. “This one isn’t stuffed.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I noticed, Cas. I found it outside the bunker.”

“You went _searching_ for it?” Castiel asks, his frown deepening.

“Uh, no?” Dean raises his eyebrows. “I heard meowing. It was right by the door, asking to be let in. So I let it in.”

Castiel finally brings the kitty closer to his chest, and his frown turns into a surprised expression. “You will regret this when you’re back to normal.”

Dean stares at him for a second, not even blinking, before stating, “I’m perfectly fine.” He keeps his poker-face on for a few more seconds, his tail twitching, before his face breaks into a smile again. “So, what should we name it?”

 

Three hours later, all three of them – Cas, Dean, and Leia – are wasting more time on the couch, watching television.

Leia is in Dean’s lap and Dean’s head is in Cas‘. Dean’s scratching Leia’s ears and Cas is scratching Dean’s. 

They’re both purring – even Dean, raw and deep, it’s not humming anymore, it’s purring in it’s purest form. And Cas is worried.

 

Leia is sound asleep on the couch when Dean finally gets up and stretches. His right leg has fallen asleep so he’s like a barely functioning person or a zombie as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

He happily finds a bottle of cream in the fridge (how could he have overlooked it before?) and empties half of it, then proceeds to go to the library to talk to Cas for a while, maybe settle in his lap and jerk him off later. Dean feels like doing that right now.

Unfortunately, Castiel is nowhere near the library, which is peculiar as it is because the guy spends half of his time here. Sometimes, Dean swears he’s worse than Sam, and that’s definitely saying something.

The only possible destination left is their bedroom, and even though Dean doesn’t really see a reason why Cas should take a nap – why today when they haven’t done anything productive or tiring at all – he heads that way.

The door to their bedroom is slightly ajar when Dean reaches it. He’s about to open it when he hears Cas’ voice, and thankful for his silent steps, he stops immediately. His cat ears make it possible for him to hear everything clearly.

“Hey, Sam,” Castiel is saying -- and it reminds Dean that he was worried that morning. “I don’t know where you are or what’s happened, but – you should hurry up. Dean is really – his condition is getting out of control and I’m not sure how long we can keep this up. Get back to me, please.”

Dean’s frown is scarring his face and his tail twitches angrily. Didn’t Castiel say they were okay? Didn’t Castiel say he liked cats? So what the hell is his problem right now? Sam will figure something out, there’s no reason to nag him – and even if he didn’t, what’s wrong with living like this? It’s not like the tail gets in the way or that the ears bother him – they are both to his adventage, actually, and it’s nice. Dean hasn’t felt this good in months, and at this point, he wouldn’t mind getting stuck like this.

And it hurts and stings and most of all, it’s _offensive_ that Castiel doesn’t share this opinion with him. It makes Dean almost furious, and he knows he might be a drama queen for reacting this way, but he turns around and retrats back to the living room, his lips pursed in anger and bitterness.

He’s sitting on the couch, Leia in his lap again, staring into a wall, when Castiel walks in. 

“So where have you been?” Dean shoots at him, still pissed off, only holding back from wild gestures because there’s a kitty in his hands. His ears are up and so would his tail be if he tried to stand up.

Castiel shrugs and sits down next to Dean. „Library and stuff. I tried to call Sam, but I only got the voicemail. I’m a bit worried, to be honest.”

“Sam is fine,” Dean snaps even though the worry is still bubbling inside of him and secretly, he admits to himself that the radio silence is more than a bit suspicious, especially with their jobs.

The conversation goes practically dead after that; Castiel holding back his worries and Dean hiding his anger.

Eventually, Castiel turns the tv on and they watch something in silence, neither of them really paying attention. When Leia stretches and leaves the living room after a while to wander around the bunker, Dean feels alone even in Cas’ presence.

It’s only a few minutes past eleven when Castiel stands up and, even with the tension hanging over them, manages a soft smile. “I’m going to bed. To read for a while, I think.”

Dean simply nods.

“It would be nice if you could join me,” Castiel suggests almost shyly, and it sounds as reluctant as when they only started to figure out this thing between them.

Dean’s right cat ear twitches. “I think I’ll stay on the couch tonight. I don’t want to bother you.”

On a normal day, this would make just about no sense at all, but this time, somehow, Castiel understands and Dean knows it. There’s a nod and a reluctant kiss that doesn’t get reciprocated, and then Castiel is out of the living room, leaving Dean alone. 

And it’s awful, because Dean knows they both worked hard to get this relationship and to make it work. It cost them months of walking around each other on tiptoes, and it cost them a kiss and a few days of embarrassed silence, and even though they worked together in bed from the very beginning, it was a whole different thing _out_ of bed. But they made it, and Dean feels like now they’re losing it, and realizing it hurts and it’s surpiring just how much it makes his chest squeeze with force.

Maybe that’s why he caves in after a few hours and reluctantly – zombie style, really – gets to their bedroom. The light is off, Castiel is probably asleep by now, and it makes Dean feel safer to enter the room.

If Castiel is wake, he doesn’t let Dean know when he walks in.

It feels almost normal when he climbs on the bed and after a few moments, settles sprawled across it, his head nestled on Castiel’s hipbone.

 

The next day, Dean wakes up wondering why he doesn’t have whiskers and whether they’ll appear with time or not.

For a second, he thinks back to Sam and how he hasn’t contacted them in two days, but the thought is so quick Dean doesn’t manage to catch it and be actually bothered by it. 

He’s on top of Cas again, and this time, he waits for Castiel to wake up, even though it takes over half an hour. Dean doesn’t mind waiting.

Castiel is obviously surprised when he wakes up and sees Dean’s face mere inches from his own. A million thoughts run through his head and Dean can see it in his expression, but then he settles on a smile, a hand placed comfortingly on Dean’s back, and a soft, “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean smiles back and instead of saying anything, he simply leans in and presses his lips against Cas’, gentle and unmoving for the longest time before he pulls back.

“Hi,” he murmurs and rests his chin on Castiel’s chest. His tail jerks and cuts through the air happily. He’s forgotten about last night’s struggle completely, and it feels like Cas never called Sam at all. It’s out of Dean’s mind – he literally feels rid of all problems and responsibilities, and he feels like cuddling.

He manages to keep them in bed for two more hours, and he likes to think it’s not just the kissing and touching and soft biting and the blowjob and the fact he lied down with his ass up in the air and purred while Castiel fingered him.

The rest of the day comes and goes in a haze, at least for Dean. He spends it wandering around the bunker, playing with Leia and eating everything he can. 

It’s not such an easy day for Castiel, though. 

He watches Dean walk around, watches him barely talk, and with every minute, it becomes more and more apparent that they’re in serious trouble. Castiel hasn’t heard from Sam or Kevin in days and he knows that sooner or later he will have to go look for them, and he can’t even imagine what’s going to happen to Dean while he’s gone.

Around three in the afternoon, he realizes he’s biting on his nails even though he finds it one of the most disgusting things people could ever possibly do. His thumb almost starts bleeding he’s so focused on biting the nail and the soft skin around it.

His teeth clench around the skin when his phone rings unexpectedly. He hurries to pick it up and heaves a huge sigh of relief when he sees Sam’s name on the screen.

Dean is God-knows-where, but Castiel looks around anyway; he’d like to have him there, either to share good news with him, or to be with someone if it’s bad news. He’s sure Dean wouldn’t be much comfort to him at this point, but it would still be better than being alone.

“Yes?” he answers his phone quickly, his expression expectant, the anticipation building up in him rapidly, even though he tries to stop it.

“Cas,” Sam sounds relieved as he breathes out his name. “I’m so sorry – we got in trouble with Robinson’s daughter and I couldn’t get back to you.”

As Castiel expected. “Are you alright? Is Kevin alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” Sam says quickly. “It was just – hey, before I get into detail. Dean should be fine in the next twenty-four hours.”

Castiel’s heart skips a beat when he hears that, and for a second, he just feels like dancing or clutching his chest or yeah, dancing would do. His lips spread into a smile, wide and sincere, and he’s got to hold back or else he’d kiss his phone. “That is such good news, Sam. I’m so glad to hear that. Thank you.”

“Nah, I enjoyed being the big brother for once,” Sam informs him, “I’ll never let him forget. That’s my price.”

Castiel laughs – it’s so easy to laugh now, he feels free again, human again – and so will Dean once he’s back to normal. 

“So what’s the story?” Castiel asks instead of sharing his happiness – he saves that for Dean, to be quite honest.

Sam sighs. “I only have a few minutes before we hit the road, but. Basically, Robinson’s daughter decided trying witchcraft was wise. She wanted to get back at her husband, she uh, cursed one of her father’s statues, but the spell accidentally spread over all his work. She freaked when she found out, and it took a lot for us to convince her to give us the original spell if and not kill us. Thank God Kevin is such a charming young man.” Castiel can here a distant, “shut up” and “I hate you” after this statement. “Anyway, we got it. But we had to figure out how to reverse it, so that took some time, but we did – Kevin, once again – and we went through the ritual. Dean should be fine.”

Castiel nods to himself as if Sam could see him. “I was worried when you didn’t get back to us for so long. I would have gone after you tomorrow morning.”

“Sorry again,” Sam says, serious again, “There was literally no time, everything happened so quickly. Won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright, Sam. I’m just letting you know.”

“Well, Cas,” Sam hums and laughs, “Thanks, I guess?”

“So when can we expect you to come back?” Cas changes the subject to prevent any form of awkward silence.

“Tomorrow morning, maybe? We won’t rush, but please don’t tell me the details,” Sam adds quickly, and Cas frowns, not getting what Sam’s talking about at first. It takes him a few seconds to realize Sam thinks it’s about sex, and he blushes involuntarily – another thing he hates about being human, even though Dean says it makes him look adorable.

“I wasn’t asking because -- ”

“No details,” Sam repeats, cutting him off. “See you tomorrow, Cas.”

Probably not wanting to risk that Cas would continue his sentence, Sam hangs up before Cas can say goodbye. 

It’s not like Castiel minds, though – he can’t wait to tell Dean, anyway.

Castiel finds him in the living room – what a surprise – watching Catwoman. There are at least five cats, including Leia, on the couch with him, and honestly, Cas doesn’t even want to ask. 

“But you hate that movie,” he says instead, frowning at the screen.

Dean grins as he looks up. “I changed my mind. I can relate now, you know. Change of perspective.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says after a few seconds of not being able to come up with an answer, “Sam called.”

“Right. Good. I was worried.”

_Were you?_ runs suddenly through Castiel’s mind before he can stop it, but he doesn’t say it out loud – he doesn’t want to get all snarky and stupid now that he’s so close to having his Dean back. He’s annoyed, though, and the more time he has to spend with this cat version of Dean, the more annoyed he grows. Dean might have been right after all – cats are irritating, especially when they’re supposed to be human.

(A little part of Cas, though, still appreciates how sweet and sort of hot Dean looks with those ears and that tail. And he still appreciates how sensitive Dean is like this – that is a treat, but it comes with baggage Castiel doesn’t want to put up with.)

“So what did he want?” Dean asks, but he sounds like he’s asking because he knows he’s supposed to.

“He wanted to tell me you’ll be okay in a few hours,” Castiel says softly. He knows it most likely doesn’t make any sense in Dean’s head – he must think he’s okay like this as well. Cas knows and he tries to understand, and he loves Dean more than ever when none of this internal struggle comes out. 

He loves Dean more than ever when he smiles at Cas – weak and small, but smiles anyway – and says, “Good. Awesome, Cas.”

 

Castiel doesn’t say a word when Dean brings Leia to bed with him. He welcomes it, even, when he realizes Dean will probably freak out when he wakes up the next day and there’s a cat somewhere near his head.

Cas honestly can’t wait for that.

He falls asleep with a content smile – he pulls Dean close to him, Dean’s tail wrapped around his thigh.

 

Castiel is more than thrilled to be the first one to wake up – it’s probably the anticipation, the excitement. His eyes shoot open, it’s not even a proper process of waking up, but who cares. He eyes Dean and sighs in relief when he sees no cat ears on Dean’s head and when he feels there’s no tail wrapped around his legs.

This is good. This is more than good. This means Dean is one hundred percent human again, and Castiel hasn’t been this happy in a long while. (Okay, maybe in a few days. Dean always makes him happy.)

He is also more than satisfied to see that Leia is still in their bed – sleeping on Dean’s pillow, actually, only a few inches rom his face.

It makes it a bit difficult to lean in and kiss Dean awake – because Cas is the considerate one, okay – but he manages to do so anyway. After a few soft kisses, Dean’s eyes open slowly and he moves his face, revealing a dark wet circle from where he’d drooled. That definitely doesn’t happen to cats. Castiel grins.

When Dean fully opens his eyes and looks around – even though it would be enough to look straight ahead, really, he blinks a few times. “There’s a cat,” he starts, “in our bed. There’s a cat right there. Make it go away, Cas.”

Castiel giggles and takes Leia into his arms, scratching her behind her ears. “What, you don’t like Leia anymore?”

“Damn,” Dean mumbles and sits up, sleep long forgotten. His hands fly up as he inspects his head and then his ass – which is quite ridiculous. “Not a cat anymore. Shit. Finally. That almost drove me crazy, man.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel protests, “you looked very happy to me, especially towards the end.”

“That was the cat talking!” Dean exclaims almost angrily and he glares at Leia as if it was completely her fault. “I’m so happy to be back. I’m gonna kiss Sam hello when they get back.”

“Kevin did most of the work, actually,” Castiel frowns, “and I’d rather if you kissed me instead. I might like cats, but honestly, so good to have the human you back.” Castiel gently puts Leia down on the floor and she hops out of the bedroom almost immediately, meowing.

“There’s more of those walking nightmares, isn’t there,” Dean whines as he watches Leia disappear in the hall.

Castiel nods. “I’m afraid so,” he confirms.

Dean tries to look like he minds, like it bothers him, but his expression grows soft soon enough, his eyes on Castiel’s face.

“Cas,” he murmurs and leans in, pressing his lips against Cas’ forceully without another word. “Cas,” he says again into his mouth, the sound muffled against Castiel’s lips.

Castiel gives in right away, his hands running up Dean’s arms, pulling him closer and closer until he’s lying back again, with Dean hovering over him. “Yes, Dean,” he murmurs between kisses, and it’s so good, so good to have Dean back.

It’s so good to cup his ass in his hands without having to avoid the tail, and it’s so good to hear Dean’s normal voice and to feel his strong hands around him, enveloping him in a warm embrace and not letting go any time soon.

“I’m also angry with you,” Dean comments when he moves his mouth down to Cas’ neck, “because you didn’t let couch sex happen. I was a cat and you took adventage of me and I’m angry. Couch sex would have been amazing.”

“Less talking,” Castiel argues, exposing his throat to Dean’s mouth completely, his fingers buried in Dean’s hair, trying to tug at it even though it’s so short. “There’s no space on the couch.”

“There’s just enough space,” Dean insists, “Let me show you, huh?”

Castiel whines, rocking his hips and rubbing his erection against Dean’s thigh. “No time. Sam and Kevin will be back any minute now.”

“One day?” Dean pants into Castiel’s mouth, his hand slowly trailing down Castiel’s chest. “When I’m not cat-like?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes out, because as always, that’s really the only answer he can come up with when it’s Dean asking.


End file.
